


Thirty Days Of Misery

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Points of View, Season/Series 05, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-31
Updated: 2005-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: S5 -spoilerish! Justin leaves for L.A. and Brian is not dealing with the situation very well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

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A/N : Regarding S5 spoilers, there is just a tiny one for beginning of S5. Plus, a biggest amount of love goes to the best beta in the world Kat! Your work is simply a gift from God. Love you, babe. *g*  
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**PROLOGUE**

 

_Just like I predicted_  
I will sink before I swim  
'cause these are the waters that I'm in 

 

**_29th Day_ **

 

Somehow, it still feels completely wrong to think this way. Even after 29 days. 

Not that you're counting the days-hours-minutes or anything like that. Men like you don't ever do stuff like that. They just don't. They simply go about their everyday life like nothing at all happened.

They don't spend hours at the time, blindly standing in front of the window, wondering if he is alright, how people are treating him, or if he gets cold at night. What is he doing right now? Does he feel the same way as you do right at this moment?

Men like you don't ever do stuff like that, but it seems you do. You can't help yourself. Not sure you want to, really.

You are not, under any circumstances, his warden, like your dear mother was to your father for all those years, so many lifetimes ago. Although, it's not like you didn't know all this was coming. 

Just like always, with everything that involves Justin, you tried to resist, make yourself to not care. It is, after all, his God given right to live this life to the fullest of his potential. Seize all the opportunities, that life had to offer. And you really want him to.

You want him to smile beautifully on a Sunday morning, while closing his eyes and turning his face to the sun. So much like the sunflower you imagine he would be, if, in fact, such a thing as a plants horoscope existed or shit like that. Or if you believed in those kinds of things. Which you obviously don't.

It appears you only believe in Justin these days. 

As sacrilegious as that sounds, he is your saviour and if by any chance in Hell your mother was dead already, you know she would now be turning in her grave at the speed of light. Self-righteous bitch that she is. And always hollier than Pope, of course. 

Well, fuck that. She can shove it, for all you care. Like she ever did _you_ any favours…

Anyway, you might as well accept all of this. _Once and for all._ Cause one step forward, five steps back gets really annoying after, well, 10 000 repeats or so. And that is just so fucking much like you, that you just…just wanna smack yourself on the head, instead of letting Deb do it for you. Exactly how stupid can you be? 

Shit. Maybe that could only be calculated with the help of higher math. Or those big ass computers stationed somewhere in Pentagon. Because, truth be told, each day you are becoming more and more aware of your own idiocy.

How could you say those things to him? Be such a fucking asshole over the phone, while he is 3000 miles away? Has your brain finally evaporated? A sick sigh escapes your lips. Well, Kinney, you **are** the stupidest shithead alive. You might as well buy yourself a rope and call it a day. Now, start banging your head against the wall really hard. You have been doing that anyway. And screwing everyone in the process. Yourself included.

What? Is your mouth taking pointers from your hurt pride now? Ain't you a smart one… Yeah, like that was such a great way to deal with your…shit… in the past.

So, why is it so hard for you to give yourself up to him already and grow up?

You believe, because of him. You can let yourself be happy. Again, because of him. And if Jesus Christ knew anything at all, he would know, that Justin Taylor is your Father, Son and the Holy Spirit on good days, Judas and Pontius Pilates on not so good ones. A face of love in times of misery on just about every other day. 

Not that you could actually grow some balls and tell him all that.

For once, you have to be undeniably honest with yourself here. Letting him go to California wasn't really a choice. Probably wouldn't ever be. Because you thrive on his presence in your daily life, whether either of you acknowledges that little fact. 

But, you are sensible enough to realize you had to do it. You just can't afford to have him hate you. Not now, not ever. That simply just won't do. You decided that long time ago.

So, he left one Monday morning, while night was still heavy in the winter sky, and he knew you were still asleep. Or, at least, he thought you were. Even hoped, perhaps.

Through the darkness of your home, you watched him silently gather last of the things he wouldn't actually need and stuffing them into his backpack. Christ, still so much like a high school boy… _your_ high school boy. That is leaving to work in another state. _Without you._

And if you were that kind of person, you would panic right about now. But you're not. You won't. You can not. _Must not._

And the only reason why you are finding it harder to breathe correctly is that greasy piece of shit pizza you ate almost 5 hours ago. Damn Justin and his carbs obsession…

Suddenly, you hear a loud whooshing sound and realize it's the door of your loft being yanked open. 

He glances slowly once again toward the bedroom and it's like he knows it, light as a day, that you're awake, but he chooses to pretend you're not. So, you let him pretend… For both your sakes. Because, you just don't think you could say goodbye to him, while moonlight shines down on the two of you. Too melodramatic and “Rebecca”-like for your taste.

Still, it's like your eyes connect across the room, finding their way to each other, even in the dark. And you know neither of you is able to say it. This time or probably any other. 

It's just the way you are built.

So, you just cowardly watched him slip away into the freezing, rainy night.

It's funny, really… There are exactly two things you can't do. 

You can kiss, fuck, come, laugh, sleep with Justin. But you can't say _I love you_ or _Goodbye_. Like, if you would actually say those things, it would all become too real. Words floating there in the vacuum, getting a life of their own. Laughing back at you. Judging.

And still, you know, they **are** out there. It doesn't really matter, whether you push them over your lips. Taunting you relentlessly with that smile of his or the line of his back, white _(smooth)_ porcelain skin, leading you on through the night.

Then, a clang of the door being closed reverberates through now empty space. 

And you shut your eyes tightly, silence pushing heavily on your chest, making you wish like hell you were asleep. So, you can pretend this isn't happening, and that when you bound out of your bed and into the shower, he will be standing there under the stream of warm water.

Grinning sleepily at you, when you join him. When you kiss his sweet lips and pull him closer into your body. When you breathe him in, completely losing your sense of reality… Two of you just kind of standing there.

And…

That is something you won't be able to do for the next 6 months. And isn’t that the true test? Can you make it without him by your side. No Sunshine smile there to greet you each day. Will you be able to do what others have tried and failed and capture the Holy Grail? Or fail horribly?

Can you fight against yourself and win? Win _him_ back again? And perhaps, keep him permanently this time?

It is true, that when Justin told you about L.A., you wished that California would fall through the ground before Justin reached it. So he could come back to you. And stay there forever. But, that thought left you as fast as it entered your weary mind. 

You haven't been fair here at all.

As much as you want him home, you know this is his path. It's what makes him happy. And you want him happy always, so you'll deal with this. Because, he so deserves this chance and that is all you ever really wanted for him.

To see him happy. And so fucking alive.

Shit, you **can** survive this. Six months. He needs you to.

After all, a week long silence treatment from him aside, it's not like he's not planning to come back.

Right?


	2. Thirty Days Of Misery

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A/N : Song lyrics come from Lucie Silvas' song called "What you're made of". And, like before, 90 % of my love goes to the best best in the world Kat. Last, but not least, I wanted to extend my huge thanks to **dphysh** for the feedback left on the first part. I didn't get the time to respond, but I just wanted to say that I really appreciate it. :) Just so you know. Hopefully, you will like this part as much as the first one. LOL Any feedback, as always, is much appreciated and adored. :D

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**Part 2**

 

_...what's your definition of the one_  
what you really want him to become?  
no matter what I sacrifice, it's still never enough... 

 

*FIRST WEEK*

 

In the still of the night, while the sane population of Pittsburgh is sleeping soundly, the ringing of your phone mercilessly pulls you out of your drink-induced slumber.

Fuck.

One would think, that this would already be a routine for you by now.

But it's not.

With eyes closed, still full of sleep, and the damned phone ringing its ass off, triggering yet another splitting headache, you can't help but feel completely sick, as your hand touches nothing on the pillow beside you. Nothing but air. And Justin's long forgotten t-shirt under the pillow. 

Yes, freakishly homesick.

Which is awfully stupid, since as far as you can remember, you **are** home. In your loft on Tremont. Finally having entire place to yourself. 

And surprisingly, you just wish for an alternative ending to this angst-ridden nightmare. 

Your answering machine finally turns on.

"Brian, I just... Just wanted to let you know things are going fairly well here... and... well, sun is shinning like mad, as you can imagine. Hell, when I walk down to the beach, it's like it is following only me."

Somewhere in the back of that nervous laugh that you hear filling the complete silence of your loft, lies something else. You just know it. 

Because you feel it too.

"Brian... Fuck! I... Just wanted to hear your voice. I really fucking miss you. Shit, I know it's been barely a week, but I..."

His breath hitches, and it's like he is standing right in front of you. You can see his eyes becoming glassy, and those little compulsive swallows of air, that make him look a little like a fish out of water. A hot, blue-eyed, blond goldfish. And you just want to pull him into your arms and let him cry. 

No questions asked, no answers given.

Only Justin in your arms.

"Brian, can you... Can you call me tomorrow? I really need to talk to you. Please? Where the hell are you? Why won't you talk to me? Fuck!"

Suddenly, a sound of a disconnected line seems so terribly wrong in here. Do you even know what are you doing? To him **and** to yourself? 

Christ, you are aware you let him go, but you definitely didn't know it would be so fucking hard. Shit. Maybe you should just call him tomorrow after all. Let him know you are still here for him.

And not drowning in a sea of your own self-pity.

God... This can't be you. This, this maudlin guy you seem to be right now. A man you would have called pathetic not so long ago. A word you wouldn't actually mind to be described with at this particular moment.

No, things didn't use to be like this. But who the fuck knows anymore.

You haven't changed this much in the first 29 years of your life. And like the man you are, or more obviously aren't, the very reason you changed for, you ignore. Or really struggle to do just that. Just in your fashion of dealing with things. Now, **that's** pathetic. And even you acknowledge the truth in that.

As rain thumps steadily on your window, lulling you slowly back to sleep, the phone rings again.

_Jesus, doesn't anyone sleep anymore in this fucking town?_

And like before, you wait till answering machine turns on. You send a silent thank you to whoever invented that thing.

"Brian, are you there? Pick up the fucking phone, if you're there!"

Ah, lovely words coming from your best friend. Hmm, Mikey doesn't sound very upbeat this time of night. You realize family life has softened him quite a bit. What's really funny, you actually like that change in him. You didn't think you would. But things change. People do too. And all along, you, a Rage of domestic life, have been, as always, fighting all the wrong battles.

It's amazing that Justin decided to stick around. You would've run the other way the very moment first pile of bullshit was unloaded. And you would've been so wrong.

Because you don't know what your life would be like, if Justin wasn't still around. You don't even want to know.

A yelp heard from Michael's mouth puts your mind back on the phone call.

"Fuck it! Stop it, Ben! Argh... You know I'm ticklish there!"

Oh. My. Fucking. God. 

If you rolled your eyes any harder, you would've been forced to start searching for them under the bed. And at the same time, you feel something you haven't felt since the first time you met Deb, back when you just moved to Pitts. A jealousy so strong, building deep inside of you, coursing through your veins, that you could almost faint from the force of it.

Wanting something so bad, and not being enough of a man to reach for it. 

Demand it.

Well, it seems your old man actually thought you yet another thing you never wanted to know.

_Just roll with the punches._ And to tell the truth, life gave you your more than fair share of punches lately.

"Brian, your partner just called to ask about you."

You hear him sigh with uncertainty. And you hate yourself even more.

"He is, you know, worried about you. He says he's been trying to call you like 100 times since he left town, and you aren't answering your phone or your cell."

Inhale.

"I told him I haven't seen you in the last few days, cause your busy and all, but he sounded really worried about you. What is going on with you two?"

You sigh silently and roll your eyes at Michael. Christ, he acts as if you are 3 steps from slitting your wrists. Or something equally pathetic. 

When the fuck have you ever been suicidal? Ok, so there has been that one incident, but...

Well, that is just something you don't even wanna think about.

Yet, you can't decide if you should you keep on breathing and ignore everyone you care for, like you have been doing for the last five days. Because you know you can't keep on doing that for the next six months. Your friends wouldn't let you. And Justin would so kick your ass for pulling this kind of stunt. Because he knows you. Better than anyone in the world. Even Michael.

Justin knows what you're capable of. 

Oh, yeah… He would so kick your ass for this. If he was here. Like you desperately wish he was

"Brian, either call him or call me. And if you don't, I fucking swear I will come to your door and bang on it, till you go deaf!"

One more yelp and you can actually hear Ben laughing in the background. 

Another roll of your eyes. And perhaps, the smallest of grins stuck on your face.

"Bri, I'll call you tomorrow." A pause.

"Just talk to him, you asshole!"

You are positive, that there couldn't be more affection in that asshole bit, even if Mikey tried his best. Again, a sound of disconnected line fills the room. Consequently, you know there will be no more sleeping for you tonight. You glance at the clock by the bed. 

_4:55 AM._

Not that it means much, since you can't sleep anyway. Of course, you know what you should be fucking doing, as those blue eyes and that amazing smile flash before your eyes. But, you climb slowly out of your bed and head over to your computer. You boot it up and wait, while a madly blinking red light on your machine keeps pulling you in. And apart.

Against your better judgement, you press play to hear the messages one more time.

An achingly familiar voice fills your ears.

_"Brian, I just…"_

The rest of that message imprints itself on your brain, staying in constant loop. And if you can do something like a pro, it is torturing yourself. Over and over again.

Rewind. Stop. Play. _Rewind. Stop. Play._

You did it before, after all. 

Trying to push Justin away for the first time. Then, you did it when Justin was b-… after the prom. The party for Rage. It's like you alone have a monopoly on cliffs and mountains. With completely wrong use of the same.

Christ, if self-torture was an Olympic sport, you would be a gold medallist several times over. Yet, you realise that this is not exactly something that you should be proud of.

Two and a half hours later, annoyed at yourself, frustrated with the stupid computer and with another raging headache already making its presence known - the little man hammering away behind your eyes, you realize it's almost 8 o' clock. 

You glance out the window, tired and sleepy as hell. Next thing you know, you are talking to Cynthia. Explaining to her that you are really not feeling all that well and asking her to reschedule all meetings for Monday. After all, it is Friday and you might as well feel sorry for yourself in the privacy of your own home, instead of biting Cynthia's head off for every little thing, as you tend to do. 

Still, just like Justin, she sticks around. Always comes back.

and To be honest, you don't really understand two of them sometimes. Either they have saint-like patience and understanding, or they are dumb. You are pretty sure it's the former, because neither strikes you as dumb at all. Far from it.

With that thought in mind, you grab a blanket from the closet, the fluffy one that Justin loves burrowing in on Sunday mornings in front of TV, and lay down on the couch. As small pillow cradles your head, a warm blanket pulled to your chin, you turn the TV on and mute it completely.

While your eyes try to focus on the screen, your mind keeps wandering to California. 

To the owner of those eyes and grins that keep you awake at night.

Is he suffering from the same turmoil you do? Judging by the call, he does. And you know you should really call him.

Like, **right now**.

Decidedly, you stumble to the phone. And just as you are about to dial the phone starts ringing in your hand, scaring the shit out of you. Although you almost answer it, after few moments of hesitation, you choose to wait for the machine to do its spiel.

"Brian, it's me again." 

You hear a sigh, carefully hidden in his breathing pattern. A pattern you know so well.

"I wanted to apologise for tonight's call. I... I guess I was homesick. And lonely. I just needed a connection to home."

He laughs nervously.

"And I think I had a small panic attack. Or anxiety attack. Or some similar shit like that. So, I hope I didn't freak you out."

Uncertain pause and silence fill the vacuum surrounding you.

"I still hope you'll call me, though. I don't think I can get through next six months like this." 

Another pause, like he is searching for the right words to say. 

"Brian, listen... I know you feel alone too. And left behind. But I'm feeling like that too. Please, don't shut me out again. We can get through this. Just... talk to me, please."

His voice breaks. And you are really a goddamned bastard. 

It's now or never. You are answering the phone. You must.

"Later, Brian... " _Click._

"Justin!"

And this time, sound of a line gone dead enters your ear.

Now annoyed beyond belief, you dial his cell phone and wait. 5 seconds go by. 

10\. 

30\. 

Entire fucking eternity. 

Nothing.

Finally, you get his voicemail. And like a fool, you turn into a speechless, sad excuse of a man and just breathe. Surprised probably. 

You wonder why you bother even trying to fool yourself. 

What you want to say to him is, _"Please, come back home."_ , or _"You are all I need."_ and _"I'm fucking falling apart without you here."_ , but what you really say is big nothing. You can't, won't do that to him, no matter how much you obviously need him. So, you hang up, lay down on the couch again, burrow your face in the pillow and pull the blanket over your head. 

Leaving the world on the outside.

All of a sudden, this Friday morning feels a lot like a suicide after all, and you would rather just sleep through it.

Perhaps, tomorrow will be better.


	3. Thirty Days Of Misery

* * *

**A/N** : OK, this will be like the longest AN ever, so bare with me, pls. LOL For those how are actually reading this, and believe me, I know how much time has been, the song lyrics come from the song by Aretha Franklin  & George Michael called "I Knew You Were Waiting For Me". And, like before, my love goes to the best best in the world Kat. BTW, in this part is a LOT of the F-word usage. And in one line, there is a remark about Ted. But, do not fear. I love Teddy. But, we know how Bri and Ted still interact most off time in S4. LOL But, well, the thing is, well, Brian is-... Well, you'll see. Hopefully, he won't be too OOC for you in this chapter. *sighs* Last, but not least, I wanted to extend my huge thanks to all the feedback you guys left on the first & second part. I just wanted to say that I really appreciate it. :) Just so you know. Hopefully, you will like this part as much as the previous ones. Long live QAF, in any way possible! LOL Feedback, as always, will be much appreciated and adored. :D

* * *

**Part 2**

_...And the river was deep, I didn't falter_  
When the mountain was high, I still believed  
When the valley was low, it didn't stop me  
I knew you were waiting for me... 

***SECOND WEEK***

 

"Fuck off, Theodore." Jesus fucking Christ, can't any of your so-called friends take a fucking hint? You thought this was a free country. Fuck… As if none of them saw an adult getting a damn drink in Woody's before.

Oh, crap.

Emmett.

OK. Here we go.

"Honey, don't you think you had enough of those for the night?" Fuck NO. You would really love to roll your eyes at him, but it seems you're too fucking shitfaced to manage that particular task.

"Getta fuck off, Honeygud!" You push him clumsily away. But, surprisingly, he doesn't budge. Go figure.

"Sweetie, let's get you home. You have an early morning, and you're closer to alcohol poisoning than ever before. And what would Justin say, if he saw you like this?" You just shake your head at him. What is he? Fucking stupid? There is no Justin. Not anymore. You're all alone again. Doesn't he know that?

"No Justin. Gone. L.A." Well, OK, so you actually slur the words, but eloquence is so not your thing after all that booze you've been destroying for the last 5 hours. And why the fuck is he watching you like that?

"Oh, honey..." Oh, no! Noone is going to give Brian Kinney THAT look. That _poor, pathetic Brian_ look. The very look you despise. You are **not** pathetic. Hell, you're not the belle of the damn ball at the moment, but you are NOT, under any circumstances, fucking pathetic!

"Fuck you, Honeycud!" You try to push his shoulder half-heartedly once more. Unfortunately, you miss him by a mile, and effectively slide off your chair. All of a sudden, all you see are knees. You look around slowly and it finally dawns on you, that you found yourself on the floor. Well, obviously, your fight with Emmett's shoulder didn't go quite as well as it was expected. Figures. 

Ah, hell... What's the point, anyway...

You look up in a drunken haze, and catch Emmett shaking his head at you. As if you are an errant child.

"Brian, baby, are you alright? Did you hurt your head?" _Yeah, about four years ago_ , you wanna tell him, but you decide to just shake your head at him. _Shit._ Now, you're feeling sick. Great. Momentarily, you wish you haven't just done that. And while you're wishing your drunken hours away, if the room would stop spinning for just a damn second, your world would be really swell, thank you very much.

"Badroom. Now." He watches you strangely for a second. Is he deaf? Pay attention, Honeycutt!

"Badroom!!!" You say it more urgently. Still, he hesitates. OK. Why isn't he doing something?

"Badroom, sweetie? What are you babbling about here?" Oh, Christ! You grab his blinding lycra shirt, pull him down to your level and closer to your face.

"Badroom. Sick!" You see the light go on in his eyes. Oh. Fucking. Hallelujah.

"Oh, you mean, **bathroom**! Ok, ok, let's get you up slowly then." Shit, what took him so long. You only told him like ten times. Damn it! You feel like a rag doll. All arms and legs. And no brain, obviously. Emmett reaches under your arms and tries to lift you up, but despite his efforts, nothing really happens. You look up at his frustrated face. What's his problem, exactly? You're the one who's fucking sick.

"Come on, Bri. Cooperate a little, will you..." Few more minutes of trying and pulling and still, your ass is stuck to the floor. Suddenly, you get an idea. You always get the best ideas when you're drunk out of your fucking mind. Once more, you grab his shirt and pull him closer. 

Hmm... Your latest favorite Olympic sport, it seems. 

"Justin?" He shakes his head.

"Brian, remember? He is in L.A. Making a Rage movie?" You nod, just a little lost. You seem to remember something of that kind in the haze of your stupor.

"Rage." Before you even realize, words leave your lips in a breathy whisper.

"Alone." You swallow hard. You don't really like how that makes you feel.

"Teddy! Come, help me, please!" Your head rings a little, when Emmett shouts out. 

Great. Calvary has arrived for poor Kinney, the lost boy.

You look up at both of them, and although they are standing in a fog, you can register them perfectly. Yep, Kinney genes are at their best when under liquor. After all, your deceased father is the shinning proof of that little theory. He definitely did his best work on you, when he was falling on his ass, hours after spending his entire day's pay in some nearby bar. 

Oh, the joyous hours, that followed after that...

"Em, how exactly did he end up down there?" You can see Emmett shaking his head.

"Teddy, doesn't matter. Just help me pull him up. He is feeling under the weather, it seems." Yeah, Schmidt, you just cackle. Hopefully, you won't get any for the next five years. Oh, yeah. You are already living **that** life, you schmuck.

"Let's move him to the bathroom." Ted nods and grabs you under your other arm. Ten second later, and you're finally standing.

"Justin?" You hear yourself whisper once again, as you glance around, eyes searching for your boy. Emmett shakes his head slowly, when Ted hears you, but doesn't say a thing.

"Honey, let's just clean you up and then, you'll be on your way home, OK?" You nod.

Just a few moments later, you're kneeling in front of the toilet seat, and feel as if you're about to sacrifice your insides to the porcelain God.. Thinking back now, perhaps those last five or six glasses of whatever you were downing like there was no tomorrow, weren't such a marvellous idea after all.

You feel yourself being pulled up from the floor.

"OK, Bri, let's get you out of here. Ted, grab him and let's move!" You nod again. At what exactly, it remains undecided right this second. Maybe Justin is at home. But, why didn't he wait for you?

For a short minute, while they half walk you, half carry you to your car, the cold of the night manages to wake you up a little, but by the time you are on your way home, that minute is long gone. The ride home is uneventful and as you look at Emmett, he seems to be satisfied that things are running smoothly. Huh! As if Brian fucking Kinney is **anything** but smooth. And you again decide to share that with him, while Ted drives. So, you just bunch the sleeve of Emmett's shirt in your hand and elaborate your thoughts to him.

"Smooth..." He looks at you and pets your hand a little.

"Yeah, yeah, baby... Smooth, alright." You nod at him, as if to prove a point. Hmm, it seems that the momentary genius of your mind is totally lost on both of on them. So, you leave your repertoire for later.

All of a sudden, the car stops.

"OK, Teddy, up we go. Let's just hope he won't remember much tomorrow. But, should we, you know,uh... mention Justin to him?" You hear him whisper. _Christ, Honeycutt. I'm fucking **drunk** , not dead._, you think to yourself. You grab his shirt again and mouth at him, with as much seriousness as possible.

"Not dead." He just nods at you. A couple minutes later and the three of you are standing in front of the door to your loft. Well, you knew it all looked familiar.

"Brian, sweetie, do you have your keys on you?" You can feel him pat your pockets. Frustrated as hell, you push his hands away and shake your head. Aha. That will show him. 

Right.

"No. Shunshine!" You iterate at Emmett, and at the same, bang on the door, waiting for Justin to finally let you in. Naturally, a mule has nothing on you in the stubborn department. 

Just one of many facets of your charming personality.

"Hush, Brian! You'll wake up the whole damn building!"

Finally, you hear the keys jingling in the keyhole. Disconnected from the world around you, you feel being moved again, and few moments later, there is finally the softness of your pillow touching your cheek. You glance around, still searching, but as the room keeps shifting, you close your eyes and the last thing your mind registers are the voices of your friends, as they leave your home. So, you simply let go and drift away.

*~*~*~*~*

Next thing you know, you're standing at the airport's check-in line. As predicted, Emmett had given your secretary a "War and Peace" equivalent, outlining why you should go and visit Justin. How all this drinking is going nowhere fast. Blah, blah, blah. As if you didn't know all of that. So...here you are now. Trying to actually get onboard of the damn plane. And truthfully, you're about to go postal on the woman standing behind the counter.

"Listen..." You glance at her nametag. "June. I reserved a seat on this flight yesterday. **Morning**! And at the time, of course, I was told that there would be absolutely no problems. Frankly, I don't give a damn about what's happening. I just need to be on that plane **today**!" 

Christ, if your blood preasure dropped any lower, you'd be dead. But, shit, you sure feel like it. 

"Mr. Kinney, I am so sorry for this." 

You watch her, as she hits few buttons on her computer. Finally, she gives you your ticket back.

"So, is everything settled now?" 

Would it be over the top if you started banging your head on the counter right about now? Because, if you don't swallow a damn aspirin anytime soon, your head will probably explode. Talk about irony... Distressed, you unconsciously start massaging the back of your neck. Perhaps, it would be a good idea to cut back on the liquor too, you think to yourself.

"Yes, Mr. Kinney, I am really so sorry for all the headache we've caused you. It seems there have been some cancellations in the last 10 minutes, so there should be no trouble. Here you go."

OK, breathe in. And out. In. Out. You are a Kinney. You can pull this off. You can get through this without actually leaving dead bodies behind.

"Thank you, June." You try not to growl through your teeth, and pull your lips into a sorry imitation of a smile.

"Thank **you** , Mr. Kinney. And I hope you'll enjoy your flight." You nod slowly, and at last, you are on your way. Glancing around the room, you pull your cellphone and push #2 on the speed dial. Then, wait for few seconds.

_"Hey, Bri! What's up?"_ You sigh, checking your watch, as you walk toward the exit.

"Michael, I'm just on my way out of town. So, if you need to get in touch with me this weekend, just call me on my cell, OK?"

_"Out of town? Where are you headed this time?"_ You're silent for few seconds.

_"Oh. OH! I get it. Oh my God, finally!"_ You hear him laugh on the other end. Well, it's safe to guess that he came to the right conclusion.

"Mikey." You warn him, despite the elation you feel inside your chest just thinking about seeing Justin again.

_"Right. OK."_ You can actually hear a zipping sound.

_"My lips are sealed, Kinney."_ You smile.

_"Oh, and can you tell Justin everyone said 'Hi'?"_ And you can't help but roll your eyes at the "maturity" both of you so obviously share.

"Say bye-bye, Mikey." He's still laughing on the line.

_"Bye-bye, Mikey."_ Oh, Christ, would someone just kick that man's ass for you? Still, you laugh at his antics and hit disconnect.

Truthfully, once you're inside the plane, the flight is as boring as fuck, but you finally get to close your eyes and try your very best to diminish the consequences of last night's little trip to alcoholics land. Fortunately, the duration of the flight is just enough for you to recharge your batteries and scare away your raging headache. 

Hours later, just as the captain announces that the plane is about to land, you pull out a small piece of paper from your pocket. On it, in your own handwriting, are three lines written. Justin's address in Los Angeles. Three lines that feel really like the only link to the man that means the world to you. Who is, by all means, your partner. Not that you'd tell anyone. Still not there yet. Not brave enough. You just hope he will be around long enough for you to get there. 

As you step out of the building onto the busy street, you hail a taxi. You give the driver your directions, and for the next 15 minutes, you're alternating between looking out the window and trying to get Justin's cellphone.

_"Hi. You've reached Justin Taylor, I'm sorry I can't answer your call right now. Please, leave your number and I'll try and call you as soon as possible. By the way, Brian, if this is you calling, I'll be waiting for you at Brett's."_ Ah, that little shit. When the hell did he find out you were coming to L.A.? Then, your mind connects all the dots. 

Of course. Who else would it be, but Michael Novotny, your very best friend. 

A man, who is unable to keep his mouth shut, even if his life depended on it.

Finally, the car stops right in front of the house. You pay the man and pick up your bag off the seat beside you. As you stand there, your eyes rest on the size of the house in front of you. A couple of moments later, the front door opens and a beautiful blond is walking toward you. For the strangest reason, everything around you slows down, almost to a halt. You realize, that never before have your arms itched so bad to hold someone close. 

Your eyes meet and you share a soft smile. It's only been a week, but it feels like an eternity. You and your stupid pride.

"Brian?" He whispers into your chest, as he melts himself inside your embrace. Soon, you have your arms full of blond goodness. What more can you wish for? 

You can almost feel him in your bones. That is how deep inside of you he really is.

"Hey, Sunshine... Missed me?" A small whimper-like laugh bursts out of his lungs and you feel yourself being pulled even closer to his body. More than overwhelmed with his reaction, you bury your face in his blond locks, desperately breathing in the scent of your shampoo in his hair. That little fact completely bowls you over, and you kiss him slowly, your lips teasingly touching his. Like a porcelain doll, his still pale complexion almost shines in the darkness of the night. It's almost like he's guiding your ship back home. Not even realizing, the two of you just stand there in each other's arms for at least 30 minutes. Seemingly silly, but you're kind of proud of yourself at the moment. You two just broke your own personal record in this particular discipline. And Justin would so laugh his ass off, if he had any idea about the things you muse about. 

At that thought, the smallest of laughs fights its way out of your lungs. Justin lifts his head of your chest and looks at you funny.

"What?" You just shake your head. He really doesn't need to know how fucked up in the head you really are. 

"Nothing, Sunshine. So, will we just stand out here all night, or shall we step inside your chambers?" You raise your eyebrow, a special, just for him, tounge-in-cheek smirk on your face. He fucking laughs at you and pulls you inside the house. The moment the door close, you pin him gently to the surface, one of your hands resting on his hip, the other already finding its way under his shirt. You feel his breathing accelerate, and very soon, his frustrated panting bounces all over the walls of the hallway. 

All you really want right at this moment is just to feel his hands on your skin, his warm lips on yours, as you revisit all the places on his body that make him cry out loudly, begging you for that next touch, that next stroke.

With more than longing in his eyes, he takes your hand and pulls you toward the bedroom. And then, heaven is all you know. 

His lips are incredibly warm against yours, his hand dips inside your pants and palms your hard cock, whimpers once more alive on your tongue.

"Justin, slower." You whisper with more desperation then you thought was even possible. Even in your wildest dreams, in which he always is the main guest star. "Otherwise, it will be over before we even begin." He grins at you with such tenderness, it makes your heart stop. Just a small nod, and his lips are meeting yours again.

"Oh, fuck! Brian... God, how I missed you..."

And you are sure, that you can feel your heart skip a beat. The things this man does to you. It's fucking unbelievable, really. To you, at least. And you thought, that you actually could live without **this**.

"Me too, sunshine." Silent sigh just above a whisper leaves your lips.

"I... I need to... feel you. Please." You nod and kiss his pink lips again, smile still firmly stuck on your face. You realized right at the beginning, that you can't stop smiling, when he is in your arms. You somewhat like that. Never thought you would, since you have always been _'looking on the darkest side of things'_ kinda guy. It's funny really how life turns out sometimes.

"Oh, it will be my pleasure, young man." You wink, making him almost giggle. 

Tantalizingly, you disrobe each other in the darkness of his room, as the lights from the street play across the walls. You trace your fingers lightly over his hipbone, around his navel and down into the well known teritory, as he squirms beneath your touch. You slowly stroke his dick, while kissing his shoulder, as a quiet prayer steals itself from his mouth. You can't help but enjoy every single movement of his hips, every little sigh that gets lost in the heat that surrounds you. You smile at his impatience, and tease him by licking around his right nipple. He buries his fingers in your scalp, pulling you even closer, fighting with himself to push the air out of his lungs.

"Oh, God... Brian... GOD!" If you weren't so overcome by the desire to do this right you would laugh at how ridiculous you can be at times... and you realise how much you really love him at this moment. It takes all that you have to not laugh at yourself silly. At just how much you really love him at this moment. Gently, you kiss his sweet lips again and again, as you've done hundreds, thousands... millions of times before. And it always makes you feel like it's the very first time. You actually feel it will always be like that with him.

"A God, huh?" He slaps your shoulder and grins that toothy grin, that makes your heart collapse inside your chest each time he does it. Somehow, just the thought of the two of you, like two teenagers way past their curfew, frolicking in a grownups' bed... well, it makes you so fucking alive. It always has.

"You're **my** God. And could you focus, please? I'm trying to cum here, you know? You're kinda breaking my concentration." You smirk, loving to pull his chain. Uh, chains! Now, there's an idea worth entertaining.

"Come where? We going somewhere? Sunshine, don't you think that we have enough on our plate at this very moment? Not to mention that I hold the weapon of mass destruction right here in my hand." As you grin at the _almost_ annoyed look on his face, you squeeze your fingers a few times around his erection. And voila! He sure ain't annoyed anymore. Once more, you suck his nipple carefully in between your teeth, pulling him back under your spell, while you keep the strokes even through it all.

"Oh, shit. Brian... Oh, God!" Suddenly, he arches under your hands, his cum splashing you both. When he comes down from the high, he smiles at you with such love in his gaze, it almost hurts to breathe. And finally, he lays there spent, enveloped tightly in your arms. You can feel him slipping away slowly into unconciousness, as the sleep begins to pull tiny tricks on his sense of reality. Few moments later, you inch him even closer inside your embrace and kiss him gently on the forehead, as you cover you both with the blanket discarded at the foot of his bed.

"Sleep, sunshine." You whisper, as he looks at you through the haze of his mind, obviously a little confused.

"But, Bri, you haven't -..." You shake your head at him and kiss his warm lips, just before he closes his eyes once more.

"Later. Don't worry about it...." A moment later, you can feel the puffs of hot air carressing your chest. "I will still be right here, when you wake up." You add quietly.

As you listen to his even breathing, for the first time since you got here, you actually glance around the room. And then, finally, your gaze rests on the man sleeping in your arms. Will you, like many times before, fuck this up royally? Well, probably. That is, sadly, one thing in life you can trust. But, at least, until that day comes, you can freely admit, at least to yourself, that every night you shared, left you dying in his arms. Over and over again. 

And really, what a way to go.


End file.
